


Running Down to the Riptide

by UpAgainstTheWorld



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, And i mean dark, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bottom Jim Kirk, Cigarettes, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Gay Jim Kirk, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Jim technically dies, Marijuana, Mind Meld, Physical Abuse, Prostitute Jim Kirk, Prostitution, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Torture, Submissive Jim Kirk, Suicidal Tendencies, Tags May Change, Vulcan Mind Melds, Work In Progress, as i post more chapters, but im almost done, consider this a trigger warning, dominant and submissive themes, i really dont know what all to tag, im not going to tag it until i post the rest of the chapters because spoilers, no rape or physical abuse occurs between between spock and jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpAgainstTheWorld/pseuds/UpAgainstTheWorld
Summary: Spock meets Jim, an enigmatic man who turns out to be much more complex than Spock had ever expected a mere human to be.This does nothing to stop certain feelings from igniting within him.





	Running Down to the Riptide

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, reader! This is the first star trek fanfic that I have ever written and I just had to post the first chapter, (which is complete) today on 8-22-2017, which is exactly one month from when i started writing it. I'm so excited to post this!!! I was wondering why there were no hardcore fanfics with Jim as a prostitute, so I wrote one.
> 
> Now I know why. 
> 
> Happy reading!!!! I hope you enjoy!!! :)

Spock was leaving his classroom when he heard a voice from behind him shout his name, hardly necessary in the empty hallway. 

“Spock!” The man’s steps faltered as he recognized the voice and turned with a repressed sigh. 

The lady jogged up to him and stopped in front of him with a huff of exertion. 

“Nyota,” he greeted her politely. Spock knew exactly what she wanted and he wondered if it would be too rude by human standards to… _fabricate_ an excuse. Surely his friend would understand the need to oversee his experiments in the biology lab even after hours? 

“Spock, you have to come with us tonight! It’s going to be so much fun,” Nyota wheedled out, her face a mask of pleading. Spock noted with alarm that it was starting to sway him. He loathed to disappoint his friend, but accompanying her to the outing in question was highly undesirable. 

“I find myself…” Spock paused, not wanting to hurt his friend, “previously engaged in an experiment and-” 

Nyota cut him off, seeing right through his excuse. Spock made a mental note to practice lying better. Half Vulcans were somewhat capable of it, providing they didn’t stretch the truth too much. He really did have an experiment needing tending to, although it wasn’t nearly as pressing as Spock made it out to be. 

“I need you to be my wingman. Montgomery Scott is going to be there and I need you to provide me with some emotional support. That’s what your job is as my best friend. Please?” Eyes surrounded by dramatic thick eyeliner widened as she pouted at Spock, who thought it illogical to be as swayed as he was by them, even as he acquiesced. 

“Very well,” Spock breathed, emitting a gust of air that might be called a sigh if he wasn’t a Vulcan. Nyota squealed happily and launched herself at him, hugging him tightly and withdrawing before he could protest her action. 

“I’ll comm you the details on your Padd,” she called out as she ran away down the empty corridor, “I have to go get ready. Dress casual!” An excited smile stretched across Nyota’s face as she glanced back at Spock, who was left slightly off kilter as he wondered what exactly just happened. 

It was a feeling he would come to know quite intimately in the future.

 

-

 

Two hours later, Spock stood in front of the mirror in his room and smoothed his seldom worn black dress shirt, tucking it into his matching black pants that were just a smidge too tight. They required tailoring. As it was, he felt out of place in human attire, not having donned much human apparel in his 23 years of life, much preferring the looser and lightweight Vulcan attire from his home planet. 

His Padd pinged loudly, and Spock retrieved it with reluctance he dutifully tamped down as he told himself that he was doing this for his friend. 

It was a message from Nyota containing the address to the club that he was supposed to meet her, her roommate, and her love interest at in ten minutes. 

Spock replied to her promptly and made his way out his apartment and into his hover car, starting it with melodic hum. 

When he pushed the back of his Padd into the electronics receptacle on the dashboard, a smooth synthetic voice rang out, reading the address Spock had clicked on.

“Estimated arrival time to your destination: 7 minutes. Would you like to choose an alternate route?” 

“Negative,” Spock replied, glancing at the Padd as he engaged autopilot, reclining the seat a few centimeters in a vain attempt to relax. 

Any anxiety experienced for expectations of the evening to come were illogical, Spock reminded himself as the hovercar smoothly glided to a stop, announcing that he had arrived at his destination. 

The small crowd gathered near the entrance to the club glanced at Spock when he approached them, gawking at the presence of a Vulcan, most likely. On the other side of the entrance stood a man in a black leather jacket leaning against the wall, his hips jutted out, tattered jeans that had holes at the knees slung low on his hips, revealing a trail of hair leading downwards as his tight t-shirt rode up, a few shades darker than the golden blond hair on his head. His shockingly blue eyes met Spock's for a scant second before Spock looked away, the electrifying eye contact startling him. 

Spock couldn’t help but notice in his peripherals a hand coming up to take the cigarette that hung loosely from his pink, plush lips. Spock was alarmed that his eyes had traveled back to rest on the man’s lips as they puckered obscenely around the cigarette as he inhaled and then exhaled lazily, making a single smoke ring before flicking it away. 

Spock tried to tamp down the blush as the man’s eyes snapped to his right before Spock walked into the nosy club, contributing it to the embarrassment at being caught staring, not at anything else. Inside, he was confronted with the booming speakers and the mass of squirming bodies, distracting him from the man outside. Spock glanced around for Nyota and spotted her searching around the room, sitting in an elevated booth along the far wall, most likely looking for him. 

It was extremely difficult to navigate through the dance floor without touching anyone, and by the time Spock had reached her, he had been bumped into several times, and even had a lingering hand trail lightly over his backside. 

“You came!” Nyota cheered as she stumbled from her place in the booth, revealing a light blue dress that had a big bow situated on the shouldered garment, almost missing the step down to the lower flooring. Spock let her embrace him and had a lingering suspicion that she was inebriated. 

“Did I not say I would?” Spock asked, being momentarily confused. He led her back into her seat and nodded a greeting at Gaila, who was dressed in a pink dress that contrasted with her brilliant green skin, smiling at Spock, raising a shot glass in return. 

“I would have thought you would try to incite some reason to stay home instead, tending to your precious plants or something.” Nyota waved her hand dismissively at Spock as he settled into the booth on the opposite side of the table. Spock's eyes narrowed as they fell on a bottle of scotch sitting on the tabletop, a little over a fourth of it already consumed between them. 

“I did say I would attend and play ‘wingman’, as you insist on referring to me as,” Spock reminded her, glancing around the room at the writhing mass of bodies ‘dancing’. More than a few people resembled dry humping, their hips pressed together in what seemed like a desperate way, panting into their dance partner’s mouths. The sight made Spock feel somewhat disgusted, like how anyone would feel looking at something that should be regarded as intimate and private. 

Nyota hummed and flagged down a passing waiter, ordering nachos and a piña colada. Spock ordered a hot chocolate with vodka at Nyota's insistence that he ‘cut loose’. He sipped it far less frequently than Nyota drank her fruity concoction. The vodka burned as it hit the back of Spock's throat, and he lamented at being half human, since the alcohol would affect him, unlike if he was fully Vulcan. 

Montgomery Scott arrived at their table, startling Nyota as she was engaged in conversation with Gaila and Spock. 

“Hey Nyota,” Scott greeted her pleasantly, his thick Scottish accent warming his voice as he went on to offer his apologies, “I'm so sorry I'm late, I got held up by my roommate who insisted on coming with me. He's at the bar now.” Nyota looked at how embarrassed he seemed to be and waved it off. 

“It’s fine. Pavel is nice. Isn’t he a little too young, though, to… ?” Nyota glanced meaningfully at Spock and looked at Scott with a raised eyebrow. Spock moved over for Scott to sit down. 

“Well… in Russia the age is 18. Which isn’t too far off. The kid can handle it, anyway.” Scott glanced at Spock nervously, it seemed. 

“I assume that you two are referring to the minimum required legal drinking age of which he does not meet. Since I am a professor at the Academy, I know it must cause you strife to think that I would divulge this information to the board.” Scott and Nyota’s expressions relaxed. “While this normally may be the case,” Spock paused, observing at how they seemed to grow alarmed again, “I will be lenient in light of the circumstances.” Spock glanced at Nyota, hoping that he conveyed a sense of owing him a favor in return. He watched as she bit down a smile and turned towards Scott, inviting him into the conversation they were having before his arrival. 

During the course of conversation, Spock observed his friend giggle, fiddle and chew on her straw, all signs pointing to attraction to the man sitting across from her. When she had finished off her fruity alcoholic beverage and Scott had finished his third glass of scotch, (a woman after my own heart, he had exclaimed when he laid eyes on the scotch bottle, sending Nyota into a hysterical sounding giggle) they walked out onto the dance floor, and Spock was 74.6 percent sure that Nyota stumbled into him on purpose, likely anticipating that he would wrap his arm around her waist in support. 

Gaila and Spock made light conversation until Gaila excused herself in favor of joining the dance floor. 

A body plopping down onto the vacant seat beside him should not have made Spock startle nearly as hard as it did when it was revealed to be the man from outside.  

“Hi,” the man said, breathing out huskily, his voice soft and incongruous with the rest of his appearance, in particular the metal spikes adorning his shoulders on his leather jacket. His eyes were so blue as they bored into Spock’s own, nearly rendering him speechless. 

“Hello.” Spock offered, eyes wide in shock.

The man’s pink tongue came out to slowly wet his lips as his right arm came up to lay of the top of the booth behind Spock and Spock’s eyes trailed the small motion, as it seemed significant somehow. He bit his bottom lip and laid his left hand on Spock's thigh, entirely too close to his crotch. The blatant display shocked him out of whatever spell the human had over him (which was illogical, since witchcraft was disproven by the existence of aliens.) 

“I must insist that you withdraw your hand from my person immediately.” Spock told him sternly, schooling his face into a look of mild disapproval.

To Spock's utter shock, the man’s eyes flashed with an undiscernible emotion and he cocked his head, seeming to deliberate for a minute before leaning in. 

“I'm Jim,” the man said into Spock's ear, pressing closer so his body almost touched Spock's. Jim's body radiated heat and Spock wondered for a brief fleeting second how it would feel against him before he quickly pushed such thoughts away. His slightly cooler body temperature made Spock too aware of the heat Jim emanated and he wished his Vulcan heritage did not dictate so strongly to make the few scant degrees difference between Vulcan and human seem so noticeable. As it was, Spock was having a hard time concentrating because of such warmth.

“My name is Spock. S’chn T’gai Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda Greyson.” As soon as the words slipped loose, Spock had no idea why he had introduced himself in that manner. 

Jim laughed lightly, his hand moving slightly where it still rested on Spock's thigh. 

“That’s a long name. I think I’ll just call you Spock.” Then he smirked wryly, eyes darting over Spock's face. “You know…” he trailed off in wonder, bemused. “Your name rhymes with cock.” Jim punctuated his statement with a firm hand to the front of his pants, cupping him nicely, sending a jolt of shock and arousal through Spock. 

Spock immediately grabbed Jim's wrist and yanked his hand off of him, glaring at him, most unamused. Jim only raised his eyebrows in an innocent expression and displayed his hand out in surrender. Then Jim flagged down a passing waiter and ordered a shot of tequila. 

Spock frowned as Jim tried to get him to reorder his previous drink and gave up, ordering another shot of tequila for Spock. 

“I am most disinclined to drink a tequila shot.” Spock informed him imperiously, slanted brows pulled downward. 

Jim shrugged, looking untroubled. “More for me, then.” 

Spock frowned again, looking at the most perplexing man in consternation. 

Jim picked at his white threadbare t shirt and held a string taut as he rooted around in his pocket, having to pull his arm away from behind Spock, withdrawing something and then in a flurry of motion, spun an unidentifiable silver object rapidly around his fingers, the flurry of movement seeming complex, but Jim adeptly pulled it off. The nimble fingers stilled and held the knife with a sure grip as Jim slid the blade along the thread, cutting it off. Spock's mouth ran dry and he wished he had ordered some water. Jim glanced at him, his blue eyes looking up at him through eyelashes that framed them with an air of seduction. 

He seemed to regard Spock for a moment before spinning the knife so fast it was a blur of movement in his hand. Jim looked back at him, his heavy gaze resting on Spock's, who noted with a frission of alarm that Jim was still spinning the blade in dexterous fingers, the motion longer and more elaborate than when he pulled the knife out. 

“Please do not injure yourself in favor of looking at me.” Spock blurted, watching with a hint of worry. 

A wicked smile slowly stretched across Jim's face, making Spock's heart beat faster, the pace already quickened, the arm returning to lay casually behind Spock. 

“It’s fine. You’re a far sight better to look at anyway.” 

Despite all Spock's effort, a blush heated his cheeks and he looked away, uncomfortable. The knife went back into Jim's pocket and Spock was relieved. 

Desperate to relieve the tension that hung in the air, Spock started a conversation. 

“Do you go to Starfleet Academy? I am a professor there myself.” It was an innocent enough admission, but from the way Jim's eyes lit up in intrigue, Spock felt himself wanting to take back the words. 

“ _Really_ ,” Jim asked, a lecherous look on his face as he… leered at Spock. Spock swallowed and tried to calm himself as Jim’s arm shifted behind him and his hand brushed Spock's shoulder, making him jump. Jim laughed guilelessly, the sound loud and blatant. Spock tried to squash the warmth that bloomed inside his torso at the noise. “A professor, huh?” Jim managed to make the word sound dirty somehow, making the faint green blush on Spock's cheeks darker. “If I didn’t get kicked out, maybe we could have met and engaged in a little… roleplay.” His tone was flirty, and the hand returned to Spock's leg, fingers brushing tantalizingly along the crease of his black trousers. For the first time, Spock wondered if Jim was drunk, and he found himself not the least bit surprised that Jim had gotten kicked out. 

“Why did you get kicked out?” Considering how rudely Jim was invading his personal space, Spock thought it only appropriate to be unapologetic at his bold -even rude- question. 

Jim, to his credit, didn’t seem affected by his question. “I broke another cadet’s nose when I punched him after he insinuated to someone, in front of my face, that I blew guys for money.” He nodded his thanks to the waiter who deposited the two shots of tequila onto the table. Spock didn’t know what to think until Jim added, “Never mind the fact that it’s true.” 

Spock sat utterly stunned and didn’t hesitate to down the shot of tequila when the waiter arrived with perfect timing as he tried to grasp the concept.

Unbidden images flashed through Spock's mind and he roughly pushed them away, disgusted with himself at fantasizing over Jim like a piece of meat. No person deserved that, even one that chose to function as such. 

Jim suddenly reached over Spock, coming dangerously close to his face, to where Spock could smell his breath, which didn’t smell nearly as bad as a cigarette, just slightly smoky, and Jim's natural scent made Spock's mouth water. Jim lingered for a few unbearable seconds, seemingly just to torture Spock as his brilliant blue eyes bored into Spock's at such a tantalizingly close distance. Jim withdrew before Spock could do anything, bringing his arm away from behind Spock, which was really for the better since Spock wasn’t sure what he'd do to Jim. 

Jim licked the back of his hand, making eye contact with Spock again as his pink tongue darted filthily out as it laved the smooth skin liberally. Spock's blood pounded in his ears, his cock twitching in his pants. Jim stopped thankfully, and Spock wondered why he was now sprinkling salt onto the area, watching it stick with confusion, the action most illogical to him. 

Jim licked the salt up, his tongue peeking out again, the sight absolutely obscene. He downed the tequila shot and sucked on the lemon the waiter had brought with the shots, his lips wrapped around the slice of fruit eagerly, his cheeks hollowing, his eyes fluttering shut. Spock illogically mourned the loss of the heady sight of his eyes. A moan of pleasure ripped from Jim's throat had Spock's cock fully hard. 

He regretted ever downing the tequila shot since it made him relinquish control of his blood flow, a fact which Spock realized too late, now that he was hard and unable to do anything about it.  

Jim took the lemon out of his mouth and Spock praised the heavens for relieving Spock from the sweet torture Jim was inflicting on him. He smacked his pink and swollen lips together and Spock regarded the action with narrowed eyes. 

Why was this human affecting him like this anyway, when it was nearly unheard of for Spock to react like this physically to any attractive person outside of porn? Spock had to concede that it was most likely due to the fact that Jim himself was porn, or as near as a human could get to it, being a prostitute and selling his body. 

(As a gesture of extending basic decency to people, Spock didn’t favor sexualizing people in the real world or think of them as sexual objects, unlike the people in porn whose entire purpose was to _be_ sexualized, their very job title as pornstars. Spock felt woefully unprepared to come to terms with the fact that Jim was a prostitute, a sexual object.) 

The man in question’s eyes flashed to him, electric in their contact as they sucked Spock in like black holes. They glanced downwards and Spock wanted a hole to open up and swallow him, to sink into the floor, _anything_ to get away from the mortification that lit up his cheeks as Jim smirked at him triumphantly upon seeing the considerable bulge in Spock's trousers. 

“I’ll be in the bathroom.” Jim winked at Spock and he was left flustered as he tried to wrestle with himself, his eyes trailing after Jim as he strutted to the bathroom, his ass bouncing with each step, the movement hypnotic. 

Spock took the much needed reprieve from Jim to organize his thoughts and control his blood flow, which came slowly. He was much more contained, his mind at ease once again, with only a scant few inappropriate thoughts lingering in the forefront of his mind as he focused instead on what Jim might do in his free time, not who. 

Spock belatedly realized he shouldn’t have been thinking of Jim at all. 

By the time Jim came back, 13 minutes had passed when he staggered from the bathroom doors that were in plain sight of Spock's table. 

“Hey,” Jim pouted at him, lips swollen and puffy. Spock glanced between them and Jim’s azure eyes, noting that the irises had been reduced to a thin ring by pupils that were blown out. With a shock, Spock realized Jim was high as he caught a scent of something… vaguely herbal, and almost unsavory wafting off Jim and his breath. 

“Are you _high_?” Spock's voice was incredulous and he, for once, didn’t care how he sounded. Jim grinned lazily, and blinked slowly, his eyelids shuttering his eyes halfway, making him look blissed out. Spock ruthlessly reprimanded himself at even daring to think that Jim looked _exquisite_ right now. 

“Yup,” Jim told him, sounding completely unashamed of himself. Spock narrowed his eyes at the man in disapproval. “I blew that Andorian over there,” he mentioned as he pointed in a vague direction, making Spock's gaze snap to look at a blue alien who seemed flushed a darker shade than was normal. 

Something jumped inside of him, squirming unpleasantly and Spock couldn’t find any words to convey his dismay at the situation. Well, Spock realized as his eyes fell on Jim’s puffy, swollen lips, at least that explained the sight that Spock fought with himself not to label inviting. 

“Weed is even better than money sometimes.” Jim mentioned as his eyes slid shut, letting Spock stare in frustration, wanting to kick himself for finding Jim’s stubble enticing. 

Really, it was ridiculous. A person should not be so attractive. 

“I hardly think so.” Spock sniffed in disdain, making Jim crack an eye open. 

“You don’t know what it’s like, _do_ you, to feel like you’re floating and simultaneously crushed under the entire weight of the ocean, but like, in a good way, y’know?” He barely gave a pause enough for Spock to shake his head. “It’s warm and lazy and strung out and intense all at once and the best feeling in the world. It’s complete and utter bliss.” Spock's stomach tightened in an unknown emotion. Perhaps it was despair at how Jim's words affected him. It seemed that anyone who loved being high as much as Jim clearly did lacked something… important, _didn’t_ they? 

It was such a foreign feeling to Spock that he let himself get swept up in it and absently reached up to touch a meld point on his temple, barely making contact before he realized his action and withdrew his hand. 

The skin under his finger was so smooth and soft, unlike anyone else’s skin that Spock had ever touched, an electric shock traveling through his finger at the contact and up his arm and spine before it settled into his mind, sparking it with a trace of a vague but so very important bond. 

“T’hy’la,” Spock breathed, utterly astounded, his tone revered as he stared at Jim, mouth agape. 

Jim’s brows furrowed momentarily before quirking his head, “tuh-hye-lah? What’s that?” At the question, Spock snapped himself out of it and replied, tamping a blush down. 

“I was surprised at your mind when I felt it.” It was a simple statement. Jim didn’t need to know that it had no correlation to his question. It wasn’t a lie, not really. Jim seemed mollified with Spock’s presumed answer though, and glanced at him in wonder. 

“That’s right, I forgot. Vulcans are touch telepaths, right?” Jim peered into Spock's eyes, his own eyes wide and facial expression earnest. Spock gulped and nodded, feeling uncannily adrift in the midst of his sudden discovery. 

“Yes. We can feel emotions and fleeting thoughts, the connection stronger by the touching of hands to the neck, scalp or face.” Before he could say any more, Jim let out an exclamation of surprise. 

“Ooh,” he cooed, and then without warning, suddenly reached for Spock's hand and yanked it up towards his face, laying it roughly down on his cheek, the scrape of his stubble a rough but delightful texture against Spock's palm as his fingers expanded to rest in his silken hair, thumb resting below Jim’s eye that was blown wide. 

Spock's shock at Jim’s sudden action made his mental shields drop as his concentration suffered a momentary lapse. 

Abruptly, Spock was wrenched into Jim’s mind, right to the very depths, far greater a mental distance than anything Spock had achieved with previous melds. It was overwhelming.

Jim’s mind was so vibrant and alive and spikey, almost (as much as a mind could be, anyway) as Jim engulfed him, the unique blue tendrils the shade of his eyes wrapping around Spock's own consciousness and tugging, squeezing, reshaping, rearranging and tearing Spock _apart_. 

Jim _consumed_ him.

In that one eternal moment, Spock saw _everything_. Everything Jim was, everything Jim had experienced and everything he could be. 

Every thought, memory, impulse, or emotion that Jim had ever experienced… Spock saw it all. 

It was extraordinary. 

It was _devastating_. 

Spock had been so blind before Jim. He thought he was seeing the color blue when in reality, he was seeing a dull grey. Everything came into sharp clarity as the nebula of Jim’s thoughts were stunning and tangled with his own, destroying Spock's shields. He knew that Jim wouldn’t be able to see anything of Spock's own thoughts, since Jim was psi-null. He _would_ be able to feel the bond, though, but Spock doubted he would be able to make any sense of it. 

Spock’s mind _shattered_ as the connection was broken as his hand was pushed from Jim’s face roughly by Nyota, who stood angrily behind Jim and must have seen Jim place Spock's hand on his face. Spock's breaths came in great gasps as his chest heaved, feeling like he was absolutely drowning, every fiber of his being crying out at the loss of his t’hy’la. He yearned to reach out, to touch again. To twine their minds together _permanently_. 

His friend’s voice broke from his thoughts, distracting him from the yearning within him. Spock took the time to reorganize himself.

“What are you doing?” Nyota fixed Jim with a glare, who didn’t seem nearly as affected as Spock was by the mind meld. Jim smirked and leaned back, interlocking his fingers behind his head, the picture of ease. 

“What’s it to you?” Jim stuck his chin out defiantly at her, watching her rile herself up further. 

Angrily, Nyota spluttered, “That is my best friend that you were feeling up, you perv! You had no right!” 

Jim looked at her brazenly and dread filled Spock as Jim's eyes flashed. “Oh, I dunno…” he drawled out, glancing over at Spock, who stared back, “it seems like he enjoyed it.” 

Nyota's face went blank and she straightened, promptly sending her fist hurtling towards Jim's face. Spock was too shocked to do anything but watch as the fist seemed to move in slow motion, landing with a sickening crunch on Jim's cheek. 

Jim’s head snapped back as the motion knocked him off balance, sending him sprawling into Spock, whose arms went around Jim to hold him as Jim's hand flew to his cheek, clutching it where it was bleeding, the skin torn by the ring that Nyota wore. 

Nyota cried out in pain as she cradled her hand gently to her chest and glared at Jim like it was his fault. Spock thought it wise that perhaps he should keep his thoughts to himself, and play the part of the caring friend instead of reprimanding her for letting her emotions get the better of her, even if Jim _did_ antagonize her. 

Scotty was hurrying over to them by now and carefully took her hand in his own two, making her wince as the pain became too much. 

“I would say that I'm fairly sure it’s broken, though I cannae be certain, seeing as I'm not a doctor.”  Spock watched a young man walk up behind Scott, peering at the proceedings with a kind eyes. 

“Nyota, vat is vrong?” The young man asked her in a strong accent that Spock immediately recognized as Russian. He concluded that the young man must be Scott’s roommate, Pavel.

“This asshole,” Nyota jerked her head angrily in Jim’s direction, who was wiping the cut on his cheek with a napkin, “was practically molesting my best friend.” The young Russian glanced between Jim, Spock and Nyota before speaking.

“Eto neudachno!” Pavel exclaimed, his voice thick with his Russian accent. “Ty v poryadke?” Whatever it was that he had asked Nyota, he seemed concerned and Spock surmised that it was likely an inquiry into her wellbeing. 

“Da, no ya slomal ruku.” Nyota responded in broken Russian, her words stilted and awkward. Nevertheless, Pavel seemed pleased at her efforts and rubbed her arm in solace as his face brightened.

“I met a doctor at the bar! He seemed grubovatyy, but nice.” He told her excitedly and dashed off, presumably to retrieve him. Jim shifted against Spock, drawing his attention back to the warm body in his arms. 

“Ugh, I need a drink.” Jim muttered against him before twisting around to flag down a waiter. “Waiter!” he called loudly, making Spock wince as the proximity to Jim’s mouth and Spock's ear wasn’t enough. A waiter stepped closer and Jim didn’t bother to wait for him to walk closer to the table, “bloody mary, extra vodka. Make it a rush order.” Jim slumped against Spock and groaned as he dabbed his cut. 

Spock chastised himself for finding Jim’s groan of pain arousing at all. 

Jim. His t’hy’la. 

The mere thought made Spock breathless and he wanted desperately to get to know Jim. For Jim to volunteer all the parts of his life that Spock already knew anyway. He wanted Jim to want him. To crave and desire him as much as Spock did Jim. For it not to be such an act, a meaningless ploy to get Spock to sleep with Jim just for his money. He wanted the flicker of interest Jim felt for him to match the all-consuming _wildfire_ that Spock felt, if only to not feel so lonely in his one sided emotions at the very least. 

Pavel came back with an older man, no older than 35. Spock recognized him as the Academy’s head doctor, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Pavel dropped his hand with a blush on his cheeks and muttered something to the doctor. 

As he stepped forward, Jim glanced at him and did a double take. 

“ _Bones_?” Jim sounded incredulous, a small smile lighting up his face. Spock pushed the surge of jealously down as Jim stood up, leaving Spock's arms in favor of embracing the doctor, who’s face matched Jim's.

“Jimmy!” ‘Bones’ yelled happily as he hugged Jim tightly around the shoulders. The doctor jumped when Jim withdrew from the embrace, his hand trailing down to McCoy’s ass. “Hey, you dick!” McCoy shouted, a smile playing on his lips as he teasingly pushed on Jim's shoulder. 

“Well, you know what they say…” Jim trailed off humorously, “you are what you eat.” To his credit, McCoy didn’t look put out as he questioned Jim, so Spock gathered that McCoy knew.

“You’re still on the job?” He only seemed vaguely concerned, the rest of his face blank as he peered into Jim's eyes. 

“There’s a well known saying that resonates with me daily: do what you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life. And prostitution pays well.” Spock noticed how Pavel hunched minutely as they bantered and then seemingly shut down altogether at the admission, and Spock thought perhaps the young man was too transparent in his interest for the doctor. “How long has it been anyway, a year and a half?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Ow. My hand.” Nyota said flatly, drawing the doctor’s attention to her. Her narrowed eyes pierced Jim over the doctor’s shoulder, who shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

The doctor hummed and traced his fingers lightly over Nyota's hand, her other gripping Scott’s own two. The Scotsman winced as she squeezed particularly hard when McCoy touched a sensitive spot, going white in the face. Nyota herself hardly flinched. 

“Yep, I'm afraid it’s broken. You’ll have to get it reset and mended. I have a bone and skin regenerator in my car that I can go get for you. I never leave home without it.” He offered to Nyota politely, and seemed pleased at her good sense when she nodded gratefully, going to retrieve it. 

Spock wanted to sooth the dejected look on Pavel’s young face when the doctor clapped Jim on the shoulder as he passed, no doubt in Pavel’s mind ignoring him. 

Jim thanked the waiter that returned with his drink, exchanging a few credit chips for his speedy delivery. Spock observed Jim downing the red liquid hastily, blinking a few times as the vodka hit him, swaying slightly. Jim was an alcoholic by Spock's definition, but by his own, he was a self-proclaimed partier. By any standard, Spock found Jim's tendencies destructive and dangerous, the very purpose that they were designed to match and exceed. Jim planned to live fast and die young, and the thought made Spock's chest and side ache mournfully. 

Surely something so brilliant shouldn’t flare out so quickly?

Spock stared at Jim, lost in thought as Jim chewed idly on the black stir straw, his lips still puffy and swollen, the cut on his cheek swelling as well. By the time McCoy had come back, Jim had been gazing shrewdly at Pavel, and Spock wondered if Jim noticed the same thing he did: the attraction between the doctor and the cadet. 

McCoy repaired the bones of Nyota's wrist and took a look at Jim’s cheek, waving a tricorder over the area, grabbing Jim's chin roughly when he jerked it away, insisting that he was fine. Spock found himself wishing he could break the fingers of the hand that rested far too roughly on Jim’s jaw in Spock's opinion. 

Nyota seemed slightly mollified that Jim disliked being fret over by the doctor. 

He brandished his regenerator in a threatening manner and when Jim laid eyes on it, he quickly ducked under McCoy’s outstretched arm. 

“ _Oh no_ , you’re not getting anywhere _near_ me with that thing.” Jim spat out, looking like he would flee at any moment. 

“Dammit, Jim, you need to-” the doctor growled out, lunging at him, the maneuver in vain as Jim nimbly spun out of reach, ducking into the bathroom. McCoy threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat. 

“I'm not going in there. He can have a scar for all I care.” He growled out, plopping down besides Pavel, who was sitting next to Scotty, who sat next to Nyota, gently holding her hand. Pavel perked up and shifted nervously.

Spock announced, “I will endeavor to reason with him,” and slid out of the empty booth beside him, ignoring the protest of McCoy behind him. He hesitated before pushing the door to the men’s room open, preparing himself for any number of sights. 

Surprisingly, the men’s room only had three occupants within, not including himself. One Tellarite was at a urinal, two disembodied feet sticking out from a stall and of course, Jim with his back against the stall wall near the sinks, a cigarette sticking out from between his lips, a cloud of smoke lingering above his head, the smoke detector most likely disabled or faulty. The majority of the stall walls were covered with graffiti, the amalgam of different scripts and doodles clashing and overlapping. 

Coupled with that and how Spock knew what happened inside here, the bathroom seemed downright seedy.

 

Spock swallowed before approaching, coming to stand a short distance away, fighting with the urge not to cough. 

“Normally, this is the part where I would say, ‘it’s 40 for a blowjob, 100 for anal,’ but something tells me that you wouldn’t be particularly… receptive to my proposition.” At Jim’s proclamation, Spock almost choked on his spit and sucked in a lungful of air, immediately regretting it. He coughed a few times, fighting for breath. It pained him that Jim, his beloved T’hy’la, would say that to him, even in jest. 

“Not particularly.” Spock rasped, fighting for control over his breathing as he tried to compose himself. He cleared his throat before trying to make Jim see reason. “Surely you would not be averse to healing your cut, lest it turn into a scar?” Spock reasoned, quirking his head. Jim's eyes narrowed and he inhaled deeply on his cigarette before replying. 

“I have plenty of scars on my body, from far worse than a little punch by a well meaning girl trying to do right by her best friend. I don’t want to not get rid of it because it’s going to simply _scar_.” Jim bit out angrily, waving a hand around, ashes falling from the cigarette in his abrupt motions. 

Spock knew what he was talking about, could see it in his mind, the guards on Tarsus IV beating him before mercilessly taking their pleasure in the confines of Jim’s body, of Jim obtaining many more wounds as he fought his way to freedom, scraping his hands on the dirt a split second before the car dove off the face of the cliff, Frank whipping him with his belt, the metal buckle cutting his flesh, and of Gary Mitchell trying to kill him with an old fashioned letter opener after Jim slept with his boyfriend, caught in the act. There were many more examples and it made Spock's heart ache.

“I just don’t like the way the regenerator feels.” Jim explained, shuddering slightly. Spock cocked his head more and tried to figure him out. 

“Very well.” Spock conceded. 

It was an impossible task. 

Even though he knew Jim in his entirety, it was like Spock didn’t know him at all. 

 

-

 

The next day was Saturday, and Spock felt adrift, his skin abuzz with the need to see Jim. 

Spock could only sleep barely two hours instead of his usual four, due to his mental distress. 

Meditation didn’t help any. 

Jim had been bought for the rest of the night by a man who came in right after Jim had finished explaining to Spock why he didn’t want to use the regenerator. 

Spock hadn’t seen much logic in offering to buy him instead, for a larger price than the meager sounding five hundred credits, not sure that Jim would welcome the insistence of other activities instead of sex, and had watched Jim leave with a barely repressed urge to tear Jim away from the stranger who had dropped a hand to his ass possessively without so much as a greeting. 

The look of Jim's eyes when he glanced over his shoulder at Spock as they left together haunted Spock's dreams.  

Nyota wanted to meet for lunch at twelve at their favorite vegetarian restaurant to give Spock a ‘play by play’ of the previous evening, something that Spock was sure he wouldn’t be able to get out of. 

With a rarely indulged sigh, he replied to her in the affirmative, his fingers tapping quickly across his padd before closing the communications window, going back to the UniNet browser where he had several tabs open, all researching the topic of prostitution from sources all over the universe. 

After forty three minutes on a particularly reputable website, Spock found his worldview broadened slightly, even though his resolve to endeavor to get Jim to quit the trade only strengthened. 

Glancing at the time, Spock knew it was an acceptable time to start getting ready for his lunch date with Nyota. Reluctantly, he closed out of his tabs and set about to fetch his clothes. A loose Vulcan silk button down shirt covered his arms and fluttered as he moved around, dutifully brushing his hair so it lay tidily in place. 

Spock zoned out as he drove to the restaurant, his thoughts drifting back to Jim and how he might be doing. Recalling a specific memory of Jim’s unwillingly, Spock shuddered, trying to reason with himself that surely Jim would not have agreed to partake in such an activity again after his first and only time doing that particular sex act went disastrously. 

Spock was referring to autoerotic asphyxiation, where Jim had actually died for about two minutes before his… customer managed to resuscitate him. 

It was one of the only things Jim considered as off limits.

Taking a deep breath and centering himself helped quell some of Spock's terror and worry. 

Jim was bright and intelligent and could do complicated astrophysics in his dreams. Literally.

If Spock had resolved to go back to the club tonight to look for Jim, no one had to know. 

Nyota greeted him, looking a little tired after last night, but she seemed happy. 

“Did everything proceed favorably with Mr. Scott after my departure last night?” Spock asked after they had ordered their drinks, causing Nyota to look up at him with something akin to pity. 

She had seen Jim leave with the man last night, and Spock come out of the bathroom five minutes later, bidding them a hasty farewell, knowing that he didn’t do near as good a job of hiding his misery as he wished.

“Well…” she began carefully, glancing at the table cloth, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle, delaying the conversation, Spock realized. He waited patiently for his friend to formulate her thoughts. “I made out with Scotty last night.” She blushed, a light pink springing to life on her high cheekbones. “It was so romantic. He escorted me back to my dorm and I invited him in, since Gaila had gone home with some girl, but he just declined and invited me out on a date Sunday night. Then we kissed outside of my room and it was amazing! He's such a good kisser. And such a gentleman.” She sighed, picking absently at a corner of her menu, her eyes far away, most likely remembering. 

Spock allowed a small smile to grace his face.

“I am 94.6 percent sure that Mr. Scott is a person of favorable quality and will endeavor to treat you well.” 

Nyota snorted and smiled at him fondly. 

“So tell me about Jim,” she demanded after they ordered their food. Spock startled, almost choking on his sip of water. Nyota observed how he reacted and Spock controlled the urge to blush. 

He was mostly successful. 

This time it was Spock's turn to delay the conversation. He set his water down neatly on the coaster, centering it and moving both to a more appropriate location a few millimeters to the left and then back again, smoothing out a wrinkle in the table cloth which had been disturbed by his actions. Then Spock picked up his drink again to quench his sudden thirst, taking measured gulps, dabbing his mouth daintily with his napkin when he was done. 

An impatient sigh from Nyota had Spock divulging the truth. 

“He is t’hy’la.” 

Spock seemed just as shocked to hear himself say it as Nyota was, who gasped loudly after a beat of silence. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she breathed quietly, gaping at him. And then her eyes filled with tears and her face became heartbroken. “Oh no.” she whimpered, before standing abruptly and coming around the table to embrace him tightly, his face awkwardly crushed halfway into her chest as her hand smoothed his hair. Spock let himself take a brief moment of comfort in the embrace of his dearest friend, closing his eyes. 

Her soft hands in his hair reminded him of his mother’s and he made a note to visit her soon. 

“Why didn’t I punch him harder?” she lamented, and through her touch, Spock sensed she was trying to lighten the mood. The sentiment was appreciated. 

“I believe that I would not have appreciated it if you did, considering.” His words were muffled against the fabric of her shirt, a frill sneaking its way into his mouth. Her chest heaved, the motion lifting Spock's head as she sighed heavily. Then she let him go and sat down again, clasping her hands in front of her, giving Spock her undivided attention. 

“When you had interrupted us… even though it was not my choice to initiate the meld, I do not regret it. I had reached up to touch Jim’s temple, not able to control myself in the face of an emotion Jim elicited within me. I felt the T’hy’la bond spring into life within my mind.” Spock looked away, not able to bear the sight of Nyota looking at him so concerned. “I made an error in saying it aloud and Jim asked me what it meant…” He glanced back up at her. “I could not fully lie to him. I led him to believe that the word meant an exclamation of surprise when I felt his mind, once I reminded him that Vulcans were touch telepaths.” His eidetic memory tormented him by bringing up a vivid picture of Jim’s astonished expression as Spock delved into his mind, his pupils wide for the wrong reason and his swollen lips parted in shock. 

Nyota made a noise and peered at him, eyebrows drawing down in concern. Spock's eyes rested out on the landscape of the city below them, the hill that the outdoor restaurant was on giving him an ample view. He wondered briefly if Jim was okay, how he was doing, if he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“So he put his hand on your face and you bonded with him.” Nyota concluded. Whether it was a guess, Spock did not know. He nodded anyway.

“Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t start saying that whenever he’s surprised.” She told him right before their food arrived, bringing a halt to their conversation. 

Spock savored the pleasant taste of his tyok’choi, a beloved Vulcan dish that was comprised of sautéed Vulcan vegetables drizzled in a light crème of the Vulcan version of a cow. It was the equivalent of what humans would call comfort food. 

At this present moment in time, Spock dearly needed it.

After talking about Scott, Nyota's studies and Spock's classes, Nyota broached the topic of Jim once again.

“So…” she lightly mentioned, her face controlled most likely for Spock's benefit. “Jim is a prostitute.” Although the reminder sent a pang through him, Spock merely raised an eyebrow, wondering where she was getting at. “How is that going to work?” 

“Since I assume you mean if we start a relationship, I find it…” Spock floundered for the appropriate description, “statistically unlikely that Jim would cease his…” another pause, “nightly dalliances.” He stabbed a root vegetable with the appropriate amount of force and not too hard at all (Vulcans could lie to themselves if they wanted to) and brought it to his mouth, chewing it in frustration. After he swallowed that bite, he bit out reluctantly, “I, being Vulcan, am reluctant to enter any relationship that is polysexual, particularly if my partner is selling himself… if people have to buy his affections.” The last part was whispered more to himself, and Spock's head ducked down to hide the brief flash of pain across his face. 

He knew that he didn’t have enough currency on all the worlds to buy Jim’s feelings, and he didn’t really want to, even if some part of him wished it were that easy. 

After all, you couldn’t very well buy something that didn’t fucking exist. 

“I do not believe I will have much of a choice in the matter, since I will take Jim any way he comes.” Spock explained softly, adding something vitally important, “if he will have me.” 

To a Vulcan –no, to _Spock_ , it didn’t matter that he had only met Jim the night before, or that he was a prostitute. 

Well, it mattered a little, but not in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t change how Spock felt for him. 

Spock wasn’t in love with Jim. Not _yet_ , at least. 

Jim consumed Spock and the T’hy’la bond ran deeper than the mere fragile emotion of love as humans knew it.

Humans were such fickle creatures, tossing the word around so carelessly that it lost its meaning. The human race would disagree with him and the rest of Vulcan kind, but Spock's (like all of Vulcankind) love ran deeper than his soul. Vulcan emotions were earthquakes in comparison to the tiny tremble of human beings, which barely scratched the surface of their souls. 

When bonded to a Vulcan in a bonding ceremony, it wasn’t unheard of for the human mate to go insane, although more rare now, since the implementing of shallower bonds for the human. 

For Spock's parents, it did not matter that they were not t’hy’la, they loved each other just the same as they would have. Sarek had told his son once that he had married his mother because she consumed him with all the love he felt for her. Spock did not think this bond with Jim was dissimilar, even though his parents’ bond wasn’t a t’hy’la bond. They loved by choice, like how Spock would surely come to love Jim.

The t’hy’la bond only forced Spock to _recognize_ what Jim had the potential to _be_ to Spock. His friend, brother, lover.

His soulmate. 

Jim consumed Spock and Spock was all too willing to be pulled under by his deep ocean blue eyes like the riptide. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! :) Please let me know about any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise. I don't mind. 
> 
> Here are the Russian to English translations:  
> Eto neudachno!- that's unfortunate!  
> Ty v poryadke?- are you okay?  
> Da, no ya slomal ruku.- yes, but I think I broke my hand.  
> grubovatyy- gruff 
> 
> Okay, so I was creating the prompt and I was listening to the song Riptide by Vance Joy and I was like, that has to be the title. (because spock runs to jim, who is the riptide, all crashing wave, impossible to tame, just pure unabashed brilliance crashing and colliding and pulling people out to sea, lost) When the prompt grew and evolved into a story, I HAD to work the title into the story... into the end of chapter one so it would seem like I came up with title after I wrote it, like a logical person probably would. Or WOULD they?  
> I strongly urge you to go check it out, since it is partly the inspiration for this story. 
> 
> This is a work in progress, but I have almost finished it. I really, really, really, didn't want to post it because I made a promise to myself not to post incomplete works, which is why all of my other stories are one chapter each. I didn't want to end up abandoning Running Down to the Riptide and leave my readers bereft like I have been after I have read a story and it turned out to be incomplete. I hate that feeling. (I'm of the firm belief that it is NOT better to have read and lost than never to have read at all.) But I persuaded myself to post this as a way to gather enough energy to sprint to the finish line and not abandon it.  
> I have started the sequel which hinges on a scene in this work that I haven't even written yet! I'm fucking insane! Like what is wrong with me????
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. I will post the middle (chapter two) sometime soon, I hope. 
> 
> I hope everyone has a lovely day!


End file.
